The Tide
by PocketPamela
Summary: Social Services became aware of the neglect on October 6th. Michael Ross, age seven, was taken away from his mother, Mary Ann Ross, on November 16th. Slight Writer!Mike.
1. Chapter 1

_Angst. Roughly based on The Tide by The Spill Canvas. _

Social Services became aware of the neglect on October 6th. They monitored his situation. They questioned him in school.

When it all started, he didn't understand. '_Where's your mother?' _someone would ask. He'd reply_: In her bedroom, ma'am._

'_Where's your father?'_ They'd ask. He'd say: _He's gone, sir, I don't know where he is. Momma is sad, though. I don't think he's coming back, sir._

'_When's the last time you ate, baby boy?'_ His neighbor Missy was a kind old woman; kind, but nosy. He'd say: _Last night, ma'am, I had a cup of cereal. _And she'd always reply, '_well, you're too skinny, little boys your age should eat more.' _He never told her that the cereal was stolen, and it had to last two weeks.

And then they started telling him about bad things like _neglect_ and _malnutrition_ and _foster homes. _He didn't want to leave. He loved his mother.

Every day, after another talk from a police officer, Mike Ross, age seven, would come home and sit in front of his mother's door, crying and begging her to get up. Begging her to come out of her room. _To love him._ Every night, he'd sit there until 6:30pm, when he'd get up and make himself eat something. Bread crusts. Old crackers. (He never could have any more than that, but he never was hungry enough to eat much, anyway.) And then he'd take his bookbag, full of library books nice teachers got him, and he'd read to his to mother through the door. He'd do his homework, and then he'd write her letters. He'd slide them underneath the door hoping that one day, his words would make her understand. They never did. She never came out of her room.

Mike Ross was taken away from his mother, Mary Ann Ross, on November 16th. It happened quietly, in the middle of the day. The sun was shining, and his eyes were full of tears. His mother didn't say goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

_I have no life. I'm also sick. This is what happens when iTunes is playing and I'm on cold medication._

His new bedroom had blue walls. The carpet was white, his bed was navy, and it felt like a prison.

He didn't understand why they hadn't let him live with his mother any more. "_Please, sir, one more day, please, she'll come out, she has to, she loves me. I can't leave, not like papa did." _He felt like a baby when he begged, but they didn't understand. The men in suits and uniforms, and the women with sad smiles and lollipops _didn't understand. _His momma needed him.

His first (and only) attempt at running away was on November 28th. He didn't get farther than the back door, because even though his mother needed him, so did his new family. They cried when they met him, and the woman, Nancy, had told him they waited a long time to get a son. _Him. _She couldn't have babies. She made him cookies and bought him books. She had curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and was prettier than his mother had ever been, even though Mike didn't really want to admit that. He didn't know what his mother looked like anymore, really. She hadn't come out of her room in 3 months when he was taken away.

Nancy found him lying on a floor mat, with the family dog curled around him. He was a golden retriever, and Mike's new best friend.

On Christmas Day, Nancy and her husband Andrew buy Mike everything he's ever wanted. He gets piles and piles of books, new material for him to consume. His eidetic memory will catalogue each new book and file it away, new memories for a new life in a new house, on a new Christmas day. They make a fire in the fireplace after Mike tells Nancy that he's never seen one. His old house didn't have a fireplace.

They stayed up until Mike couldn't hold his eyes open anymore. They made smores, told each other stories, and Mike got his first nickname. His mother had always called him Mike, and his father called him Michael. Nancy and Andrew called him Marshmallow.

"_Miss Nancy, if you get to call me Marshmallow, does that mean I can call you Graham Cracker? 'Cause those are both from smores. And I can call Mr. Andrew Chocolate, right? We can be a treat family. It'd be cool." _

On March 3rd of the next year, Graham Cracker was shortened to Gram. Chocolate was shortened to Choc. And Mike officially had a new family. His bedroom had blue walls. His carpet was white. His bed was navy. It felt like heaven.


	3. Chapter 3

_(Ive been fangirling over a ton of random things recently, so uh. My characterizations might suck. That, or just my writing. Or my writing when I'm on meds. COOL. This story is saved on my computer under Angst because The Tide would make a weird document folder name.)_

When he's eleven, Choc has a heart attack. It kills him in his sleep. Mike clings to his grandmother after she wakes up in the arms of her cold husband. She's crying, and he doesn't know what to do. He ends up writing out all his feelings on construction paper he finds in his closet. It reminds him of when he was seven, skinny, and too young to do much of anything except plead with his mother using his words. Now that he's eleven, he can do things to help, like give Gram his bed (Hers still smells like Choc, and he figures sleeping in one that smells alive might help her out.) While she's sleeping, he slips the note underneath his own door. The next morning, he can tell his Gram read his letter, full of thank yous and good words about Choc, and his secret fear of being left alone again. He knows because she hugs him and won't let him go, even when he says he has to go pee. It's uncomfortable and his legs are cramping but he's never felt so loved.

His and Gram's and Choc's golden retriever dies in its sleep the next night, just like his owner. Now it's just him and Gram. Mike never puts chocolate on his s'mores again, and he's glad Gram understands and doesn't bring up getting a new Retriever, because he's not sure he could handle that, either.

That Sunday, the Lord's Day of Rest, Mike and Gram pay their respects to Choc at his grave. _Loving Husband and Father_ is inscribed on his grave, even though Choc didn't have a biological son. Mike knew him for only four years, but they're the best four years of his life.

When summer comes around, Gram decides to send him to summer camp. He's not too sure, but Gram wants him to, so he goes.

He meets Trevor there, and he's the only kid there who doesn't ask him why he doesn't put chocolate on his s'mores at the campfire. While Trevor isn't exactly book smart, he's intuitive, and great at reading people. They stay together the whole summer, the brawn and the brain, best friends, and when Gram picks Mike up, Trevor is all he talks about. They become pen pals. Two years later, Trevor has convinced his parents to move to Mike's neighborhood, and they're inseparable.

Every year, when Choc's anniversary of death comes around, Trevor stands next to Mike, tall and strong, fighting away the nightmares and a rare bully. He curls his body around Mike's, hugging him, in the middle of the graveyard; when he sleeps. Trevor reminds him of Superman. He's faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, and the second best thing that's ever happened in Mike's life.


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm not in love with this chapter. I would've had it up yesterday but rl is just.. really bad right now. And I'm getting away from my house this weekend, so the updates might be slow. I'll try to get another few out tonight. This update shouldn't be as angsty as the rest, right? I don't know._

The first time Mike goes to the beach, he's fourteen and more than a little scared. Trevor convinced him to skip a day of school and take a bus out to the boardwalk with him. All he could think about were the various statistics he's read about beaches: kidnappings, killings, attacks. His memory sucks at times like these when he really just wants to let go and have fun. Despite being nervous, Mike enjoys the beach. He has Trevor next to him and nothing can go wrong.

That doesn't mean he's going in the water, though.

He sits on a towel, surrounded by strangers, but completely at ease. Trevor is diving into the waves headfirst, but every time he resurfaces, his eyes find Mike's. The salt smell of the Atlantic sticks to Mike even as they're driving back, surrounded by smells of vendors and travelers.

Once he gets home, Mike locks himself up in Choc's study after having dinner with Gram. He writes letters to Choc: they're artistically written; more fantasy than reality. He's putting a spin on his day. They're about a boy, a new family, s'mores, waves. He loses himself in the world he's created on paper, but that's okay, because Gram is always there to pull him back with cookies and warmth and smiles. He always comes back to her, refusing to be like Mary Ann Ross.

His English teacher finds him working on another entry to Choc: this one is about dogs and waves and sunsets. He'd be embarrassed if he cared lots about what anyone except Gram and Trevor thought of him. He's writing about his dream childhood (before he was seven. He writes as if he can erase the painful memories of the stranger he once called "mom.") Mr. O'Niell is astounded by his voice—booksmart kids are almost never creative like Mike—but Mike's always loved words, anyway.

Two months later, Mike is declared the winner of a state-wide writing contest. The judge's reviews make him feel invincible. Gram and Trevor's proud smiles make him feel marvelous.

It's the first time he's ever been published.

**PS: writer!Mike forreal? Or just a random tidbit from his past? I kinda want it to happen. Review with your opinion about writer!Mike and maybe a scene from his childhood you want? Him coming out, his first job? (And maybe you could profess your undying love for me too. :D?) (that was a joke.)**


	5. Chapter 5

_Enjoy, lovelies. OMG YOU GUYS. I went shopping today and bought the coolest shoes in existence. _

When Mike is 15, he gets his first job. Gram has just retired, and even though the checks from the state cover most of their expenses, they still need money for food and books and clothing. (Gram's birthday is in three months, also, and Mike wants to get her something special.) He works at a local animal shelter. It doesn't pay much, but he doesn't need much, just enough for cereal and rice and new jeans and a necklace that caught Gram's eyes. His boss, Louis Litt, is 22.

Working at the animal shelter leaves Mike feeling like he should be doing something _more_. He's surrounded by sad animals, and he wants to take them all in: Sparks, the charcoal grey cat with one ear, victim of neglect, Henry, the chocolate lab, victim of abuse. They're unwanted, rejects, but Mike grows to love all of them. Louis Litt lets him work with them most of the time: feeding them, cleaning their cages, walking the dogs. Louis is just another reject of society: a student studying law with a backstory that goes on for miles. He works the cash register, and despite his not-so-attractive rat-smiles, he succeeds in finding many animals homes.

Louis is a hardass (at least, that what he wants everyone to believe. Most people do believe it.) Mike sees more than the average human being: Trevor has taught him enough about body language and nonverbal cues to see that Louis is one of the best people he's met. Trevor understands his fascination with his boss, but he doesn't respect the man like Mike does.

He gives Mike a day off whenever the owner of the store, an angry old woman named Beth, decides to put down an animal that has spent too long in one of her cages.

Mike appreciates it.

After 8 months of working under Louis Litt, he's learned enough about the man to start writing about him. Once he starts, he doesn't stop.

His analysis of Louis is published in the United States of America when Mike Ross is seventeen, under the alias "Patrick Adams." It's a nationwide hit.

**I'm not sure how the hell this works, but does anyone wanna be a beta/tell me about that whole thingy? I feel like my chapters could be greatly improved if I wasn't writing these on the backs of my schoolwork, copying them onto a computer, and then pressing upload. Because that's what happens.**


	6. Chapter 6

_Yo, if you don't like religion, I'm sorry. This just happened. Tbh, I haven't gone to church since I was like 5, and this chapter just.. came out of nowhere. I like it. But if I got any facts wrong, blame Wikipedia? _

Trevor thinks that it's ridiculous—"why the hell are you doing this? You're a saint, Genius"—but Mike enjoys going to church. Something about the stillness, the ethereal, almost otherworldly atmosphere of the church just makes Mike stop and just breathe.

Every Sunday, Mike gets up early to make Gram breakfast in bed. No matter how tight money is, which it rarely is anymore; the profit from his book sales mostly go to charity, but he and Gram get enough to have food consistently, Mike always makes sure there's enough for pancakes, bacon, toast, and eggs. Ever since she found out how serious he was about writing, she's been curious, so he makes a point to write her a quick poem, which he scribbles on her napkin. He changes the subject of his poems every week; sometimes it's about an animal at the shelter, sometimes it's about something he's learned in class. Gram saves each one in the drawer of her bedside table.

After that's all done, he heads down the street to St. Thomas's. Pastor Richmond is a kind old man who talks about the beauty of the world despite sins being committed by Earth's inhabitants. He has a deep voice; it's grounding and calm and warm. Surrounded by strangers, connected by a unique _feeling_ in the air, and singing as one has Mike feeling like he's a part of something _good _and _nice_, and that's enough for him.

After the ceremony, Mike waits by the confessional. He knows he's not a bad person, and that his confessions might be trivial, petty, but the act of telling a stranger about his week is relaxing. Mike tells the Father about his sins of the week: falling asleep in class, seeing a stranger-man on the street yelling at a woman but not doing anything to stop it, lying to his Gram about a nightmare he had (it was about his childhood before Gram; those three months of solitude and loneliness and heartache, and he couldn't tell her about them. He couldn't tell anyone.) The Father forgives him for what he's done, tells him to say prayers, and Mike walks out feeling clean. The soot from the city doesn't stick to him, and the feeling of it has Mike grinning as he walks out.

There's a woman by the name of Missy who sometimes talks to him as he's leaving. She's kind and nosy and reminds Mike of something; the memory is just out of his reach, but he doesn't mind. She's familiar in a strange sort of way, and talking to her is pleasant. They chat for a little about their week, and she tells him the same story again and again: how she was lost after her husband on 16 years died, but the church helped her start to believe in everything again.

Mike, surrounded by glass stained air, believes in everything, too.

**Hope you enjoyed that:) **


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry guys I guess religious!church-going!Mike sucked?_

Senior year, Trevor's parents split up. Mike is lost. He spent his first seven years in a dysfunctional household, but then Gram and Choc came and showed him that love existed, and that people could have happy endings. Trevor's always accused him of being naïve, but neither of them understands why the separation happened. Mike had spent most of his years with Choc and Gram, and then just Gram, but their love was always tangible, all-encompassing. Everyone could feel it. The dedication they had to each other, the dedication Gram _still _has, is astounding; Mike and Trevor—who spent most of his days with Mike at Gram's, who didn't even know Choc—were under the impression that that's what it's like for everyone who's in love.

They just don't understand, and it _hurts._ Trevor stays with his mother, a thin, angry woman named Grace who constantly whines about Trevor's father, Henry. Trevor gets to visit Henry for a weekend every other week, and he almost always brings Mike; they were never separated, even now, as they were getting ready to graduate high school. Henry is almost pitiful in his sadness; it's like he's mourning the death of his wife, not the end of their marriage, although Mike could compare the two quite easily. They go to the zoo, they shoot hoops, they visit batting cages; all man things, and Mike thoroughly enjoys the time spent with Henry. Seeing the smile on Trevor's face is worth getting up early and not seeing Gram as much for the weekend.

Things change when Henry cracks, deciding he can't do it anymore, and starts drinking like his life depends on it. He skips meetings, and soon, Trevor's grown to not expect anything from the man anymore. Mike tries to make it up to him; he takes Trevor to the ocean like they did when they were younger, they make s'mores without chocolate on bonfires Mike makes on the outskirts of town (Trevor's adopted Mike's no-chocolate policy; putting chocolate on s'mores is associated with nasty, nasty things—Chocolate is Mike's father, not something you eat) but it just isn't the same. Trevor stops caring the last two months of his high school career, never handing in his work, or even trying to take his tests. All his teachers are concerned—while Mike is the smarter of the two, everyone genuinely likes Trevor, he's ambitious and cocky and charming—but seeing the slight shake of Mike's head every time they go near Trevor to ask him about it makes them decide not to.

Grace catches wind of her ex-husband's alcoholism in late June, and stops the bi-monthly meetings altogether.

All Trevor really has are Mike and Gram, but they're not enough. Mike's smiles and innocent laughter and geeky jokes, Gram's warm hugs and gentle, Mike-like smiles, her way of just knowing and doting on the slightly lost boy? They're not enough.

Trevor and Mike go off to law school in the fall.

Trevor starts doing pot in the winter.

Mike fakes getting high with Trevor, wanting to be near the uninhibited shadow of his best friend, but not willing to break the law himself. Trevor never notices, he just cuddles and eats and clings to Mike like he's a preserver, a hero, and suddenly, the roles are reversed. Trevor used to stand guard over Mike like he was the boy's only hope of survival, his last defense against the world, his protector, on the anniversary of Choc's death. Mike now stands guard over his misguided best friend while he mourns the loss of a life he wishes he could have again.

All Trevor wants is a family. All Mike has is Gram, but they're a family, can't Trevor see that, can't Trevor see how Gram sighs more and Mike smiles less, can't he see that they're all falling apart, this little make-shift family unit they are?

Trevor starts dealing in the spring.

The next fall, sophomore year of college, Mike gets expelled for selling the answers to a calculus test. He doesn't tell Gram why he sold the answers, she already knows. She already knows that he was saving money to send Trevor to rehab, to get him help and get him out of the life he's been knocked into.

Gram just sits and watches while her boy's lives are slowly ruined by a man named Henry and a woman named Grace. She's glad that Mike's middle name is Andrew—like her husbands—and not Henry.

Henry is an ugly name, anyway, and her boys, Mike and Trevor, are beautiful.

**OH GOLLY IT'S MY LONGEST ONE YET.**


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello. I'm pretty much high on medication so this is probably a bad idea. _

In a way, Jenny saves both Mike and Trevor. He'd write her as the heroine in a thousand books, if he thought he'd do her justice.

Mike was numb, unfeeling, after getting kicked out of college. He had dreamed of being a lawyer ever since he realized that Choc and Gram had, in all honesty, rescued him. If he could make that kind of difference in the world, daily, well then, why not? He could battle against the injustices happening in the world; he could help children like him get away from abusive or neglectful parents. It had been his life goal: grow up, make a difference. And now he couldn't.

He had spent the months after being expelled holed up in his apartment, barely eating, and only leaving to visit Gram or check on Trevor. Writing had been his coping mechanism; sitting at his desk, scrawling on familiar lined paper had made him feel like he was free. It made him forget all his problems. For the moment, anyway.

He stopped going to church. Missy came knocking on his door a few times, obviously concerned, but he never opened the door. She stopped coming, eventually. Some days, Mike sat around writing his sins, tears streaming down his face.

Jenny waltzed into his mid-December, the year Mike was kicked out. She was a new tenant at the apartment Mike lived in. He had been coming back from visiting Gram, carrying a bag of groceries, when Jenny literally bounced up, all blonde and shiny and new and she was the most beautiful person Mike had ever seen, after Gram. And unlike pretty much everyone else, she didn't ignore him or shun him even though he was kicked out of a law school for breaking rules. She didn't even know him, and yet, she reached out. She saw him _drowning_ in his insecurities and confusion and Trevor's mess, and pulled him out.

It started out small. She would bring over _delicious _casseroles, claiming that Mike was much too skinny. (He probably was.) She'd stay longer and longer each time, and after a few weeks, Jenny was bringing over dinner and they'd eat together. He found out she was in culinary school on a scholarship, she was from a small town in Indiana, and she had a brother in the Army. Mike never opened up as much as she did, but it seemed like she understood. Mike came to see her as a confidant of some sorts, someone he could depend on; a quiet, amazing, chef-rock.

The first time she sees his writing, she starts crying on the second page. He hugs her tight, confused as to why her face was covered in tears, but she just shook her head, clung to him, and told him he was _beautiful_, he was _worth_ it, and he would amount to _something, more than something_. His writing was _beautiful. _

He found it therapeutic to write his sins down and hand them to her. She never judged him, and she'd talk him through everything. She was his own personal church. He was slowly healing.

And as if she couldn't do enough, she healed Trevor, too. After two months of having Jenny to himself, Trevor had stumbled in while they were having dinner. He was a mess, half high, and Mike was scared that Jenny would finally realize she didn't want a friend like Mike, and then she'd leave.

She stayed. She stayed for months and weeks and years, and Trevor slowly weaned himself off the pot for her. She was a miracle-worker, and Mike probably owed her his life, as well as Trevor's.

Gram met Jenny at Trevor's six month anniversary of being sober party. Jenny was uncharacteristically nervous, clinging to an all-white cake. When Gram just stared at her, Jenny squeaked out, "They don't eat chocolate. I doubt you do either. Vanilla is way better, anyway—I've gone 6 months without any chocolate, ever since Trevor and Mike told me about it. Well, see, it was more like I read—"

Gram simply just smiled, placed the cake on her dining room table, and turned to Trevor declaring, "You will marry this girl."

Life went on, and Trevor proposed, eventually. (No one ever disobeyed Gram.)

Mike published his writings from those autumn and early winter months, before Jenny, anonymously. A third of the proceeds got to supporting reformed drug addicts, a third to Gram's retirement fund, and a third helps fund scholarships to the French Culinary Institute in NYC.

**I don't know what I'm doing with this because I really don't want to go canon and have Trevor leave and Jenny and Mike date. They're going to be completely platonic in this. The break between Trevor and Jenny might still happen, but it'll be resolved. Because I like this world too much to ruin it with drugs and divorces. Kljghkjfgk. ANYWAY, its long again, hurray! Review? Yall can have delicious all-vanilla cake!**

**(Anyone wanna beta this? I'm almost positive I'm using way too much commas.)**


	9. Chapter 9

_YOU GUYS THIS IS THE CHAPTER._

Mike didn't really enjoy showing off his body, but it brought money in. He knows that really, the decision was his fault, but he still likes to blame it on Jenny's friend, James.

/

When Jenny and Trevor got married, it was May 25th, and everything was perfect. Jenny's large, southern family accepted Mike, Trevor, and Gram into their family with open arms (Henry and Grace were not invited. In Trevor's eyes, Mike and Gram were the only family he had—the only family he _needed._)

Jenny's childhood best friend, James Caffrey, was (and still is) gay. He also couldn't afford a hotel in NYC for the duration of the wedding. Jenny volunteered Mike's couch.

Living with James was an interesting experience. Enchanted by the city, James decided, _why not stay here?_ And by here, he meant Mike's couch. With Trevor and Jenny off on a honeymoon and the rest of Jenny's family safe back in Indiana, Mike was stuck entertaining the man. It turned out to be more fun than he had originally thought it would be. James was smart, fun, and knew how to have a good time. They bonded, whether through circumstance or similar personalities, fairly quickly—after being around Jenny more, and getting over being kicked out of school; Mike had learned to open up more easily.

Mike worked days at a diner, where James often visited him. At night, he showed James the world.

Despite both being homosexual men, Mike and James never even had a fling. There was no awkward kissing, no tension, no avoidance. It was like they both knew they were destined to be friends rather than lovers. They were always on the same wavelength, and just _fit._ When Jenny and Trevor came back, they helped Mike and James move into a newer, better apartment. Jenny was excited—two of her best friends were _brain-twins_. On top of that, Mike was happier than she had seen him in, well, ever; she had only heard of his truly endearing grins, his crinkling eyes, his delighted laughter, in stories from Trevor's childhood.

James—Mike's polar opposite in looks: black hair, green eyes, freakishly tall—had gotten a gig _modeling_ after weeks of job searching_. _And when he wasn't modeling, he was doing make-up for runway shows and photo shoots.

"James, you're such a stereotypical gay man," Mike complained one morning, over cereal. "It makes me look straight. _And I'm not. _You know how annoying that is." And it was annoying, Mike had gotten attacked by women at bars him and James went to, while James got all the men. And letting down women was never easy for Mike, he felt bad, they always looked so _hopeful._ But he wouldn't actually _sleep _with one of them for pity—that was just wrong.

"Just because I'm pretty and I make others pretty doesn't mean I'm a stereotypical gay man!" James replied, biting into a piece of toast. "For heaven's sakes, you _write. Poetry_. That's more stereotypical than I am. You blatantly display _feelings._ So unmanly."

"Just because you can't write doesn't mean you can knock my words! And it's not blatant. No one reads my work."

"Jenny reads your work."

"Jenny put up with _you _for years! My work probably—"

"Babe. Stop. You fight too much, god. You also have to get to the diner, and I have make-up to do!" James exclaimed, quickly ending their quasi-argument, grabbing his bag, wrapping a scarf around his neck, and skipping out the door.

"You're _skipping, _James! That's gay!"

/

Mike had just gotten to the diner when he got James's call. "Miss me already, baby-cakes?" Mike asked, while putting on his apron. He ignored the looks that screamed _aww! _from girls sitting at the counter, and focused on James's voice. He sounded distressed. There were frantic voices in the background—probably models and fashion designers and what not.

"Mike, babe, you need to get over here. Now." _Oh god._

"I just got to work; you know I can't skip out unless it's important." Mike actually liked the woman he worked for, Catherine. She was spunky, tough, but fair. She had taken a liking to him when he first interviewed for a job as a waiter at her diner, The Diner. The name was as blunt and to-the-point as the woman herself, and Mike respected that. She reminded him of Missy, and sometimes, he regretted not going back to church.

"Yeah, and it's _important! _One of the male models didn't show up, and Mike, you're the prettiest man I know. And you'd fit in the clothes. I checked the sizes." _Nonononono, _Mike protested internally, _modeling is not something I'm doing today. I'll just say no and—_

And then James used 'the voice', and Mike knew he had no choice.

"Modeling? Really, James? You know that's not my thing. I better be getting paid, because I'm probably going to piss off my boss—"

"I cleared it with Catherine," James cut in_. Of course he did. _Catherine could never resist James. "So you're coming in?"

"Yeah," Mike said, nodding to Catherine. He almost walked out of the diner with his apron still on, then doubled back, hung up the apron, grabbed his leather jacket, and head out to the Hilton where James's shoot was.

/

Mike didn't mind being dressed up, the designer suits felt like heaven against his skin, but what he did mind was being felt up by the French and blatantly gay wardrobe manager. Mike had a type, thank you very much, and it wasn't his.

He was on his fifth suit—_god, how long would this take_?—when he couldn't take it anymore. Jack had just grabbed his _crotch_ and whoa, that was not okay. The last time someone had done that to him, he was in high school and Trevor had beaten the shit out of the guy, with his football friends. Mike had been the smart, cool kid that people liked, and some thought that just because he was gay he was okay with being groped by some random stranger. He wasn't. And once Trevor and the team caught wind of that, neither was most of the school.

He shot a wide-eyed, panicked look at James, who had somehow _sensed _his distress, and mouthed _I can't._ James stood up, getting ready to confront Jack, when Mike saw an opening and took it—an assistant had just left the room, and Mike darted out the room behind her. He realized he was still in his model-clothes, briefcase included, when he was already halfway down the stairwell. He almost felt bad about it, but knew Jack would've let him keep it anyway: the man had been gushing about how he looked in it, and whispered a '_You can have this once the shoot is over, models sometimes take the clothing', _(which Mike had already known—that's how James and him had decent clothing. He didn't _like _modeling, but he still did it from time to time.)

He was aware that James was probably following him, but he really didn't want to talk to him right then. He would probably end up saying something he regretted—being touched just _freaked him the fuck out _when it wasn't someone he was comfortable with, and he tended to get moody—so he ran through a list of places he could probably head to dressed the way he was. He remembered seeing a sign for lawyer interviews being held a few floors below him, and he figured he could blend in pretty well with them, so that's where he headed.

It ended up being a decision that made his life very, very complicated.

**JK this wasn't the chapter but next chapter will definitely be and I'm starting to type it now but I'm going bowling soon so..**


	10. Chapter 10

**wrote this in like half an hour. probably not my best. but hey guys YOU GUYS. it's actually not the chapter, again, but you got some Donna! sorry!**

* * *

><p>On Mike's eighteenth birthday, Gram took him to a tailor and made him a custom suit. She said that it was tradition in Choc's family, every male on their eighteenth birthday got one—Choc had his first adult suit in his closet the day he died.<p>

Mike still has his. He wears it on special occasions, and he's glad he hasn't grown since it was made specifically for him. It's a beautiful charcoal gray suit, highlights all his good features, and fits him like a glove.

It's for this reason that he pities most of the men he's staring at right now. The poor souls must not have ever gotten a real, _good _suit. They're dressed in department store suits that are designed to look fancier than they really are. He supposes that if anyone else had seen the men, they would think they're sharp, rich lawyers—but he's living with a living Vogue magazine. He spots the differences between off the rack _anything _and fancy, expensive clothing like _that._

He, not to be conceited, is the best dressed male in the interview waiting room, hands down—even in his slightly-too-long model pants and his dress shirt that's a little too broad at the shoulders, and a little too long in the sleeves. He'll have to get James to fix that for him.

There's a beautiful red-headed woman sitting prettily at a desk, wearing a green dress that is most _definitely _not from a department store. It looks like she probably got it from an overseas designer—most likely Italian.

Based on the assistant's clothing, Mike believes that he's camping out in a pretty damn high class lawyer's associate interview.

He breathes out, and prepares to relax, when he hears a faint, "Mike?" from the hallway and oh Jesus: it's Jack.

Time slows down, and Mike can feel himself start to freak out, because really, this man needs to stop. Mike just wants to be left alone and not molested, thank you very much. When the pretty assistant calls out, "Rick? Rick Sorkin?" Mike's reaction is instinctual—he doesn't even care if Rick Sorkin is two seconds away from the room and might miss the chance for his big break in Lawyer-dom. He's taking this opening and getting _away _from Jack.

"Me, I'm sorry!" Mike says, ducking out of view from the door and into the space around the assistant's desk. He watches nervously as the lady examines him, slightly puzzled.

"Rick? You were scheduled to be interviewed _five minutes ago. _Why should I let you in? You're dressed almost as good as my boss and I, but don't think you can intimidate me with your good clothing choices. I'm around rich, snobby men _all day." _

Mike would drop to one knee and propose to this woman if he weren't, well, gay. She's demanding and gorgeous, and her snark is just _delicious. _And she complimented his suit, in a round-about way. Brownie points for boosting the ego.

"Well, ma'am, I'm not at all trying to intimidate you. I'm just trying to hide from this _crazy _French man who insists on molesting me, so I really don't care if you let me in."

There's a moment of tense silence, where everything just stops. The other interviewees stop fidgeting and glance at him, stunned by his response to the beautiful assistant. The assistant herself, someone who Mike instinctually knows doesn't get shocked too often, stares at him, almost speechless. Then she breaks into this _smile, _and Mike feels bad for all the straight men in the room.

"Alright then Rick, go ahead in."

Mike grinned at her, thankful, so thankful. As the doors are shutting behind him, some hot-shot lawyer's arm on his back, he can faintly hear Jack's high, accented voice asking the lovely red-head if she's seen a beautiful blonde model.

Mike: one. Jack: zero. Well, Jack has zero points.. And a few gropes. Mike just gets a suit and a point on his internal win-scoreboard.

* * *

><p><em>well there's Harvey's hand on Mike's back, that counts for a little bit, right? review, please? I needa know if y'all like it. I know it's not written in the same format thing as the beginning chapters.<em>


	11. Chapter 11

**OH GOD IM SORRY. You guys can just hate me. I just got my mojo back though. but unfortunately, i can't write for long, i dont think, so enjoy this horrible, written in like 5 minutes midget piece. because apparently i can't let you have more than one sentence of Harvey dialogue. ever.**

* * *

><p>Mike's written this scene in his head; he's envisioned it hundreds of times when he was in law school. He's never forgotten any of those dreams. He never thought he'd actually get the chance to be interviewed t some hot-shot lawyer's associate.<p>

And they _do _that that you only live once. Mike firmly believes in that the way he believes in Sunday mornings and a good shoe, his Gram and Jenny's chocolate chip muffins.

"My name is Harvey Specter," the classy man in the Tom Ford suit tells him. He decides he's going to go for the unique approach, because this isn't a legitimate interview anyway; even though he's consumed the knowledge, he doesn't have the paper to prove it, because of some Dean who hated him and used his daughter to bring him down.

They're still walking, heading to the beautiful dark wood desk Mike sees, and he's about to crack a joke, but then Specter's knee bumps into the back of his leg, and he goes tumbling. And then his briefcase falls open. And then, _then_? This interview is officially the best thing that's ever happened to him. Maybe he'll start writing comedy, because this is just too good.

There are condoms all over. They, apparently, were piled all up in his briefcase that he was just modeling with not half an hour ago. There are rose petals. And, by god, is that a dildo? He takes out his phone and discreetly snaps a picture of the scene: his legs, miles long, covered in fancy suit material, his shoes shiny, and his lower half absolutely covered with all things male on male sex-related. This will make his and James' wall. It might even deserve to be blown up, framed, and put at the center of it all. _Oh, those Frenchmen._

"My name is Mike," he says in his deepest, most mysterious voice, "and I'm here to fuck you."

* * *

><p><em>questions, comments, concerns, ideas, love, hate: review.<em>


	12. Chapter 12

**okay, so.. this is probably bad. i shouldn't even be posting this. but i wanted to get it out. this isn't even.. I don't know. But you got a tad more Harvey lines! hurrah.**

* * *

><p>He's aware he's made this awkward. In fact, he revels in the slightly uncomfortable look on this Harvey Specter's face. In the back of his mind, he's a little stunned at his actions, but only because he remembers being scared of the ocean, he remembers his mother, and he remembers when Trevor was on pot. He was subdued when each event occurred; he was so, so shy talking to police and talking to Jenny and sitting on the beach watching Trevor. And now? He's sitting on the floor of a strange hotel room, telling some man he's here to participate in sexual relations with him. He's amazed, and this is the first time he's realized how far he's come from the scared little boy he is. It feels absolutely wonderful.<p>

And then he realizes that he's been staring into this Harvey Specter's (amazing) brown eyes for longer than is socially accepted, _and Specter has been looking right back. _He decides he's just not going to say anything, wait for Specter to start talking, because he's brought a lot to the table.

"Well, I'm Harvey Specter, Lawyer, and seeing as prostitution is illegal, I'm going to sadly decline your offer seeing as it might mar my reputation if it gets out, even though you're wearing a fairly nice suit—" Mike can tell this Lawyer is about to say something more, but a _fairly nice suit?_ No. No, definitely not.

"Fairly nice? _Fairly nice?_ This suit is up to par with pizza that has cheesy crust. This suit is superior to any other Harvard Douche suit that's out there. If I were you, I'd hire me just based on this suit. Also, for your information, _I'm not a prostitute."_

"You are aware that you're talking to a '_Harvard Douche_,' right?"

They're talking like their old friends, like this Harvey Specter is some old long lost friend of Mike's. And Mike, who is a fan of reading as well as writing, who's recently read a book about past lives, he thinks that there's a possibility that he and Specter had met in some past life.

He didn't believe in a lot of things before Jenny came into his life, and Trevor changed into the man he is today. He wrote about them; he wrote about Louis being superstitious, he wrote to Choc about dreams he'd had that were mostly fantasy. He believed in the idea of peace, and found it in church, but he didn't believe that somewhere, someone was controlling everything on Earth, and that angels existed.

He didn't, but he does not. And past lives fascinated him to no end. He wondered if they met like the way they did now. He's positive that no one has ever been in the position he's in ever before this, though. He's still on the floor; covered in whatever the hell James stuffed in his briefcase, and the hot-shot lawyer who's supposed to be interviewing him is squatting down next to him, staring at him like Mike's something that he's never met before. Like Mike's a whole new, strange sort of person, one who sits comfortably on the floor amidst foil packages and flame-red petals, and hold a conversation with him.

Mike decides that even though he doesn't have a diploma, and even though he's probably not going to get hired, that doesn't mean that he can just mess around. So he gets up, looking up at the brunette lawyer, and clears his throat.

"I'm actually Mike, genius, and you called yourself a Harvard Douche, not I. I just mentioned that the poorly attired men outside this office are douches who come from Harvard."

"You're a genius, are you?"

"I like to think of myself as one. I have a birth defect, but it's a cool one. I don't mind it." And he doesn't mind it. It's something he couldn't imagine living without, his memory. He views it as a mutation, but a cool one; one that would be in a comic book, next to all the other Avengers.

Harvey Specter looks puzzled at what he just said, and he belatedly realizes that telling your interviewer that you have a birth defect that makes you a genius probably isn't the best way to start things out. Nothing Mike has done in the past half hour has been the best way to go about things, though.

He isn't sure how this meeting is going to end. He just hopes he's not escorted out of the building by buff security guards. Or, worse—being sent back to Jack.

* * *

><p><strong>review? hopeful update again in the next few dayyyss.<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Y'ALL CAN KILL ME IF YOU WANT BUT I COME BACK BEARING AWKWARD APOLOGY-CHAPTER. THAT ISN'T EVEN 1,000 WORDS (NOR IS IT THAT GOOD BECAUSE I TYPED IT IN AN HOUR WHICH REALLY ISN'T IMPRESSIVE AT ALL)**

* * *

><p>Mike was used to abnormal interviews; he once interviewed to be an elf in Macy's Christmas Wonderland. The cheery young woman had sat there for ten minutes, asking him about his favorite candies. He wasn't quite sure what the purpose was, what did it matter what he enjoyed eating? He eventually came to the conclusion that it was a sort of psychological exam, seeing as he didn't get the job when he mentioned that he didn't really like <em>candy, <em>he preferred a nice bowl of ice cream with sprinkles. That, even with his genius mind, confused Mike; never in his life had he read that elves were more interested in candy than spreading cheer and making presents, _but okay. _Maybe it was the fact that he had told the woman he was gay when she tried to ask him if he wanted to go to a new club, _Ooh!, _with her.

He didn't get this either, naturally, but really: why would he? He was just some waiter who modeled and sometimes read law text books. That didn't make him a lawyer, and it certainly didn't give him a degree. He did seem to leave an impression on Harvey Specter, though. The man had deduced that he wasn't actually Rick Sorkin when he mentioned that he didn't _have_ a degree, but he _did _ask for Mike's name. Which Mike saw as a win. He wouldn't ask for just anyone's name, would he? Especially someone who served eggs twenty-four/seven as a diner named The Diner?

After explaining his situation to Specter (_I just got to work when I got a call saying I needed to be at a shoot today, in this hotel, and when I got here, this creepy guy was groping my junk so I ran out, remembered seeing that there was an interview for a law firm, concluded that I wouldn't be out of place here in my suit, and ran in, thus crashing your interview) _and then debating about whose suit was better (_You're wearing Tom Ford, who's all class. But my suit is more modern, definitely not old school class, like yours. It's updated, it's hip, and it's definitely more pimpin' then yours, sir),_ Specter was escorting him out. The man was smiling at him, eyes crinkled, and Mike couldn't help but smile back. Crisis: averted. Ally: gained. _Maybe._

As soon as the door opened, Mike took in the scene in front of him: the calm red-head still sitting at the desk, many nervous men in poorly tailored suits, and his best friend sitting cross-legged on the floor, writing up notes. That last thing registered, James, wasn't all that unexpected; James had a distinct lack of social cues, despite being smooth in bars and on shoots, and had no qualms about sitting on the floor in the middle of a classy hotel, writing in purple pen.

James looked up, saw him, and then scrambled up, rushing forward. "Darling, I was so worried! What happened?"

Mike didn't feel like answering James' real question, the '_why did you leave the shoot_?' question, because James already knew why. He didn't want to talk about getting groped so much that he just couldn't deal, leaving and hiding in an intimidating lawyer's interview, because it made him sound so _overdramatic_. He went with dramatic avoidance (which probably didn't help in his attempt to not sound overdramatic, but it did help throw James off his trail for the time being). "Oh, James, I wanted the job so much, but I just didn't get it! And it's so unfair, James, so unfair!"

James knew what he was doing; he always knew what Mike was doing. When Mike widened his eyes and slowly walked away after James denied him something trivial, James knew Mike was trying to guilt trip him. When he used a certain voice, usually to get James off the couch and into bed when he'd fallen asleep after dinner, James knew he wasn't really concerned about his back, he just wanted to see the new episode of _Supernatural._ But he did as he always does: he played along. He'd harass Mike about what really happened later. James was good that way; he didn't push Mike, he quietly reminded him that he was there whenever Mike wanted him to listen.

"My poor baby, oh, come here!" James motioned, already moving towards Mike, arms outstretched.

With that, they hugged; Mike leaning into James (warm, warm, warm, comfortable, _friendly), _his head tucked against James' shoulder, as the rest of the room's occupants looked at each other, completely perplexed. The Harvard Douches looked at each other, then at the two men hugging; one in a suit that probably cost as much as one month's rent and one in torn jeans, a white tee-shirt, and a green scarf. Harvey Specter's receptionist gave her boss a look that said, _clearly, you're going to explain what just happened to me late; and if you don't, I'll turn you into shoes._

After a few moments, they pulled away from each other, and James leaned back down to grab his notes. Mike tilted his head, questioning, then watched as James subtly shook his head, pivoted, and started pushing papers onto the Harvard Douches, standing around as if they lost children on the first day of school, James the overeager teacher pushing information onto them. "Here, here, here, and _here _you go; I've made a detailed list on what all of you should wear to the next interview you go on, seeing as only one of you will be hired. I've also included some recommended treatments for your various flaws. I hope y'all have a nice day now, and good luck, because this lawyer must've been tough if he declined hiring my Mike!"

With that, Mike's hand was grabbed, and he was pulled out of the room, down the corridor, and out into the city.

* * *

><p><em>"forgiveness was sought, forgiveness was found, but why won't you accept my forgiveness?"<em>**_ - _**_my friend's ex-boyfriend writes poetry about her_

**ps don't hate me for not updating in forever (I would put a good excuse here but I don't actually have one)**


End file.
